A Song of Ice and Fire: The Bear of the North
by Fanofallthethings
Summary: The third child of Maege Mormont, Lady of Bear Island, is Jonah Mormont instead of Lyra, the only male member of House Mormont. Under his influence, Westeros will change forever. Rated M for Game of Thrones.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Hey all, sorry for the long absence from writing. Life's been crazy, and I haven't had time to write, and what I have done has been mostly planning. So my first two stories on this site, Ravager and If You Can't Win, Cheat both ran into brick walls. I wasn't sure where to take stories, and I'm dissatisfied with the writing. So! I decided to rewrite them, with significant changes, and The Bear of the North will be the new, hopefully, improved version of If You Can't Win, Cheat. A rewrite of Ravager called Will of Beskar will hopefully come soon, but thanks to the nature of that story it requires a **_**lot**_ **more planning. Enjoy!**

**Chapter One: Rebirth**

My sword impacted my opponent's shield, rebounding back and throwing me off balance. They stepped in, their sword slashing at my throat, but I jerked my shield up just in time to ward off the blow, recovering my balance and slashing at them from overhead. They parried, tipping my sword to one side and forcing me to stumble past. As I staggered, trying to keep my balance, I felt a shield smash into my back, knocking me face-first into the training yard's mud. I stayed where I fell for a moment, the cold mud feeling not entirely unpleasant after the workout of a training session I had just been through, then rolled onto my back to see my opponent removing their leather training helmet, grinning down at me and offering a hand to pull me up.

"You're improving, little brother," they said, the smile on their face showing no hint of mockery. It was true. This bout had lasted nearly five minutes, an eternity when fighting with sword, shield, and armor.

"Damnit, Dacey," I responded, a smile crossing my own face. "You just couldn't resist sending me face-first into the mud, could you?"

"Jonah, Jonah, Jonah," she said, "what fear does mud hold for a Mormont of Bear Island? In any case, if you don't want to wind up in the mud, fight harder."

I gave her a mock glare, then took her still-outstretched hand and allowed myself to be hauled up out of the mud. "You're three years older than me," I complained, "a _woman grown_." I said the last in a mocking voice, mimicking our maester, who had been hounding mother to search for a betrothal for Dacey for years.

Dacey growled, lunging forward with her blunted practice sword, and I twisted aside just in time to dodge, a yelp escaping my lips as I did so. As soon as her sword was past, I saw that her strike would have slid past me even if I had stood still, and that her lips had curved into a smile. "Have to keep you on your toes, little brother," she said.

A smile to match hers spread across my own face. "Aye," I said, "but who's going to keep you on yours?" Her brow furrowed for a moment, then turned to shock when an arrow planted itself in the mud between her feet.

"That would be me," a voice called, and I turned to see another of my sisters, Jorelle, standing at the entrance to the longhall that served as the seat of House Mormont, a bow in her hand and a quiver on her back. The weapons were at odds with the dress she wore, but Jory was a walking contradiction. At eight years old, seven years my junior, she was the most ladylike of the five Mormont sisters, the daughters of the Lord of Bear Island's sister. On the other hand, she was absolutely lethal with her bow, and no foe to dismiss if she wielded the dagger she hid beneath her skirts. Our youngest sister, four-year-old Lyanna, stood beside Jory, the wooden toy sword she had wheedled out of Mother for her fourth name day clutched in one hand. "Mother wants you and Dacey to come see her," Jory said, picking her way across the yard, avoiding the worst of the mud to keep her skirts clean.

Dacey spoke first. "Do you know why?" she asked, a frown crossing her face. "Mother normally doesn't interrupt training time unless it's important."

Jory shrugged. "I don't know anything but what I told you," she responded. "Uncle Jorah still isn't back from hunting those poachers, it may have something to do with that."

I glanced at Dacey, whose face was twisted up in thought. "Don't hurt yourself, sister," I said. When she turned to me with a confused look on her face, I elaborated with a grin. "You may strain the muscle between your ears at this rate, considering how little you use it," I japed.

She studied me for a moment, then swung an arm out and caught me in the jaw. It wasn't a particularly hard blow, but even so I found myself lying in the mud for a second time, the giggles of my younger sisters and the full-bellied laughter of the elder filling the yard. I pushed myself upright and looked up at Dacey, one eyebrow raised. She returned the look, then started walking towards the hall. I scrambled up behind her, beating off the worst of the mud with my hands. "Come on, Jonah," she said over her shoulder. "Mustn't keep the She-Bear waiting."

I hurried my steps, passing through the wide door of the longhall in lockstep with my sister. Once through the doors, we stood in a long hall, taking up the entire length of the building and about a third of its breadth. At the far end of the hall was the lord's seat, a chair carved into the likeness of an upright, snarling bear, the paws extending over the head of whoever sat in it. Between the door and the seat a large firepit ran down the middle of the hall, trestle tables and benches on either side. The walls were adorned by the furs and stuffed heads of a variety of beasts, though a certain predator many lords boasted of hunting was noticeably missing, and weapons, beaten swords, shields, and axes that had belonged both to the warriors of Bear Island and their slain foes. Doors at each end of the hall led into separate halls that ran the length of the building on either side of the Feasting Hall, halls that provided access to the quarters for the Mormonts, our hall's garrison, the few servants we kept, and guest rooms for the occasional lordly visitor. Stairs on either side led to an upper level of rooms on each side of the hall, with rooms dedicated to the same purposes as those below. With Uncle Jorah, the Lord of Bear Island, gone hunting poachers, our mother, Lady Maege Mormont, the She-Bear, sat on the lord's seat.

We passed down the length of the hall, passing a group of guardsmen seated at one of the tables, who nodded at Dacey and raised a mug of ale in her direction. When I walked by I just got grins and ruffled hair. I couldn't help but smile in return. I'd grown up around these men, and with their children. Nowhere was the gap between lord and smallfolk smaller than in the small holds of the North. We reached the end of the hall, standing in front of our mother. Maester Orwyck stood next to her, and we waited while they talked in low voices. Finally, Orwyck nodded and turned away, hurrying out of the hall, and mother turned towards us. She stared at us for a moment, her face grim. "Dacey. I need you to take a dozen men and make for the eastern shore," she said.

We both instantly snapped to alertness, and Dacey spoke first. "Wildlings or ironborn?" she asked.

Mother let loose a heavy sigh before replying. "Neither. Your Uncle Jorah has disgraced the family name by selling the poachers he was chasing to slavers. You will go to retrieve him. Jonah, your uncle has always had a soft spot for you. Go with them and try to convince him to come back. Lord Stark may allow him to take the black if he doesn't flee."

My mouth hung open in shock until Dacey elbowed me sharply in the ribs. I snapped my mouth shut, then asked the question burning through my mind. "Mother, are you certain?" I said.

"Aye," she responded. "A guard reported that Lady Lynesse left the hall late last night, and she has not returned. There's also this." She reached back behind her and picked up a sword leaning against the throne. A simple, unremarkable sheath covered the blade, but the worn leather wrapped hilt and bear shaped pommel identified the ancestral sword of our House.

"Shit." Dacey and I spoke almost at the same time, but the amusement that occurrence would normally evoke was absent in light of the events unfolding around us. Then I had another question. "Lord Stark has already been informed?" I asked.

"Orwyck is sending a raven now," she said. "With any luck you will have returned with Jorah by the time he arrives. You had best be moving if you want to make it there by first light."

We nodded, then turned and half ran, heading for the smithy and armory building on the outskirts of the compound. The hall was surrounded by a wall of stone that reached the height of a bear on its back legs, which was then ringed by a dry moat filled with wooden stakes. Within the wall was a hutch for the ravens the maester used to maintain contact with the rest of the world, the maester's house, a guard tower at each of the four corners of the wall, the kitchens, and the smith.

We started shucking off training gear and weapons before we were all the way through the door, tossing the discarded equipment at the pair of apprentices who stood within. On our island, with its frequent raids from wildlings, ironborn, and other pirates, this was a common routine. One of the apprentices shouted out the door for the master of horse to get our mounts saddled and ready, then collected the leather and blunted weapons and disappeared into the back. The other began pulling our armor from its hooks, tossing it to us in the same way we had thrown the training armor at them.

My sister and I stripped out of the sweat-soaked, mud covered clothes we wore, all modesty gone in the urgency of the moment. We shrugged into padded shirts and fitted pants, then strapped bracers to our arms, greaves to our shins, and pulled leather jerkins over our heads. A leather skirt with a cut up the back and an open front went over our legs, providing a degree of protection without prohibiting movement. The skirts were meant to provide greater protection than the usual tassets, and so were made of two layers of leather, the inner supple and flexible and the outer stiff and hard, so as to turn away weapons. A steel breastplate went over the jerkin, covering us from the base of the throat to the waist. The breastplate had no sleeves or armor on the arms, so allow for freedom of movement. On our head went steel helmets that hugged our heads, with a T-slit that stretched back to the temples on the top to provide excellent visibility and ease of breathing, secured by a leather strap under the chin. Altogether, the armor provided comprehensive protection while still allowing the wearer as much freedom of movement as possible.

The armor was followed by a swordbelt, which bore a meter long bastard sword on the left hip, and a long fighting dagger on the right. The apprentice who had carried off the leathern training armor reappeared with our personal weapons. Dacey took a long handled war axe, while I took a spear with a two meter shaft made of ash and a half meter leaf-bladed steel head. The shape of the spear head made it equally utilitarian for slashing as stabbing, and it allowed me to fight on equal terms with enemies who greatly outweighed and stood much taller than my fifteen-year-old frame. I had never been in a real battle, but I was a Mormont of Bear Island. We trained in the ways of war since we were old enough to hold a blade, and there were few outside of my family that could match me with sword, much less with my favored weapon.

Armed and armored, we crossed to the stable, the last building within the walls. The stable stood right next to the gate, and a dozen men-at-arms in armor like ours sat astride their horses, waiting for us. I handed my spear to the stable boy who held the reins of my young roan horse, then swung myself up into the saddle and reclaimed my spear, sliding it into a holster that held it horizontally along the horse's right side. A shield emblazoned with the snarling face of a bear hung from the saddle at the left flank of my mount, and a bedroll and sack with a few day's provisions were strapped down behind where I sat. The supplies were kept ready at all times, as we never knew when we would need to sortie out to deal with raiders of one flavor or another.

My horse shifted back and forth, letting out snorts as it did so. I ran a hand through his mane and down his neck, speaking softly into his ear to calm him down. "Easy, boy. Calm down, Roach," I said. It had confused everyone when I named my new horse Roach, but something inside me had found it amusing to give him that name after he had wandered off for the hundredth time. I still wasn't sure what was funny about it, but it made me chuckle every time I thought about it. After a moment of soothing, Roach calmed and stopped moving.

Dacey urged her bay mare to the front of the group, then raised her voice to address all of us. "We're going to find Lord Mormont and bring him back, along with his lady wife. There may be slavers around, so this may turn into a fight. Be ready, be alert, and fight well. Let's ride!" With that, she wheeled her mount and urged it into a trot out the gate, breaking into a gallop as soon as she cleared the wall. The guardsmen and I followed. It was late afternoon when we started, and we continued riding as fast as we could until dark fell. Once it became too dark to ride safely, we dismounted, leading our horses through the woods. This was our island, and the night held no fear for us. Each of us, even myself as the youngest, had ridden over almost every centimeter of the island, and could cross the entire place with hardly a misplaced step. We walked without torches, as we had closed most of the distance between us and where the guardsman had reported Uncle Jorah had made camp. We hoped it wouldn't come to a fight, but there was no sense in losing the element of surprise.

The sun had just peeked over the horizon when we reached the edge of the woods overlooking the eastern beach. A Tyroshi carrack rode the waves, anchored out in the sea, and two groups of tents squatted on the beach. Closer to the waves, three garish, brightly painted tents stood, while a pair of low, grey tents were sited closer to where we stood. We had left the horses a half dozen meters back so we could approach quietly. We had all retrieved our weapons from the horses, so I clutched my spear in my right hand and bore my shield strapped to my left arm.

Dacey gestured us closer, and we clustered around her, heads bent in to hear what she said. "Jonos, when we break cover take seven others and make sure the Tyroshi don't get in the way," she said, speaking to the most experienced of the guardsmen, a grizzled, scarred veteran of Robert's Rebellion and the Greyjoy Uprising. "Ned, you and the other three will come with Jonah and I to retrieve our uncle. Jonos, take your seven and find a position where you can get to the Tyroshi quickly. Whistle when you're there and we'll move in."

Jonos nodded, tapped seven other men, and they moved off through the bush. We stayed where we were, adjusting gear and preparing to get up and move as soon as the signal came. After what felt like an eternity but couldn't have been more than a few minutes, a low whistle sounded. Dacey stood up, moving forward at a jog that kept the jingling of weapons and armor at a minimum while still moving at a good clip. Eight figures broke out of cover further down the beach and moved to form a line between the two sets of tents. Jonos' group finished forming up at the same time we arrived in front of the pair of grey tents, Ned and his men forming a semicircle behind us. No weapons had yet been drawn, with Dacey's axe slung over her back and my spear propped on my shoulder.

I decided to break the relative silence. "Uncle!" I called. "Your nephew and niece want to say hello!"

There was a rustling in the tent and a man emerged, blinking against the growing light. A woman was visible behind him as the tent flap moved, still curled up on the bedroll within. A pair of Mormont guardsmen emerged from the other tent, wearing only leather jerkins and battle skirts, rather than full armor. The man from the first tent wore only trousers, and though his head was balding and his face clean-shaven, the rest of him was as hairy as could be. He carried a sheathed sword in his left hand, and once he emerged he planted the point of the sheath in the sand and stared at us. "Niece. Nephew," he said after a moment. "May I ask why you're here with a dozen soldiers?"

I responded before Dacey could. "Slaving, Uncle? Really? If that bitch you call a wife isn't happy with her _husband_, let her go back to her precious Hightower. What's done is done, but come back with us and mayhaps Lord Stark will show you mercy and let you take the black with Grandfather."

His face had grown furious at my derisive mention of his wife, then turned to fear and disquiet at the mention of Stark. "You will not refer to my wife as a bitch, _nephew_," he said. "You've sent for Lord Stark?"

"Mother sent a raven to him yesterday afternoon," Dacey confirmed. "He should arrive within a week."

Jorah stared at us for a moment, then wheeled and paced a few steps one way before turning back to us. "Fuck," he spat. "Why do you begrudge me the coin? Why can I not dispose of criminal scum as I see fit? I am the Lord of this island, godsdamnit!"

"Uncle, there is nothing more to be done here. Come back home with us. Perhaps Mother can even convince Lord Stark to forgive and forget," Dacey said.

Our uncle smiled humorlessly. "You've never met _Eddard Stark_," he spat. "The only thing that frozen bastard gives a damn about is his honor, and he'll never tolerate one of his bannermen impugning his precious _honor_. It'll be the Wall or the sword for me if I'm still here when Lord Stark arrives."

"Uncle-," I began, but at that moment shouting erupted from behind us.

I spun around to see one of the Tyroshi slavers step out of his tent, see the line of Mormont soldier standing there, waiting for them, and dive back into the tent, screaming something in whatever language they used. The guardsmen shifted nervously, glancing at each other and loosening their still-sheathed weapons.

A second later, a Tyroshi in a loose silk shirt and flowing pants burst out of the tent, a single-edged sword with a slight curve to its blade in his hand. He slashed at the closest guardsman, but the man jerked back and the blow barely even grazed his breastplate. The soldier next to the attacked man drew his sword and cut down the slaver with a single strike, but by then more of the slavers were boiling out of the tents, all armed and some armored.

"Shit!" Dacey yelled, then ran towards the rapidly disintegrating line to join the melee, the four men with us following her. There were at least twenty of the slavers, and while we possessed superior weapons and armor numbers would tell if this battle lasted too long.

I turned to my uncle and spoke. "Don't fucking move," I growled. "If we lose men in this stupid fight, I'll make sure Stark sends you to the damn Wall." Then I turned to the two guardsman who had been with Jorah. "You two, with me!" They hesitated for a moment, then followed as I ran towards the fight.

I leveled my spear as I ran, aiming at the back of an armored slaver trading blows with Jonos. His armor was simple leather, and the castle-forged steel point of my spear punched straight through him and his armor, emerging out the front of his chest. I yanked it back out, stepped back and spun on the spot, using the bladed edge of the head to deliver a powerful blow to the back of his neck, severing his spine and killing him instantly. The melee in front of me was far too tight to effectively use my spear, so I raised it to shoulder height, reversed my grip, and threw it at the nearest slaver. My aim was off, so it only grazed his side, but the pain distracted him enough for a guardsman to take his head half off with a sword stroke.

I dragged my bastard sword from its scabbard, one of the two new guardsmen on each side of me, and charged into battle. I cut the tendons in the back of the knee of one slaver, allowing his opponent to dispatch him before being confronted by a large Tyroshi, dressed in flowing silks and with a scimitar in each hand. He spun the blades around his body in a flowing, intricate pattern, before settling into a stance, one foot extended forward, his weight on the back, and a sword each above and below his head, parallel to the ground. I didn't waste time saluting, rather stepping in and delivering a vicious cut towards his midsection. He wasn't expecting me to attack immediately, and was forced to skip back out of range. I followed with a looping blow towards his head, then a cut at his legs. He ducked the first and leaped the second, before finally striking back, swinging a sword from each direction. I stopped one with my shield and parried the other, knocking it down and away, then launched my blade in a flat arc at his throat. He parried it away, and I snapped up my shield just in time to stop a double blow from above. I thrust my blade at his stomach, and he parried by crossing his scimitars and catching my blade in the X created by the blades, forcing it to the ground. My blade was momentarily trapped, and he was bent over. So I kicked him in the head, the sole of the heavy boot I wore colliding with his skull. He toppled over backwards, and I followed with a second thrust that took him through the throat.

During our little duel, a space had cleared around us, allowing me a moment to breathe. The fight seemed to have gone out of the slavers for the most part, leading me to believe scimitar man had been their leader. The majority were surrendering to our men, and while I saw several slaver corpses scattered on the ground I didn't see any guardsmen there, bar some with wounds to their legs. Enemy defeated, guardsmen in no danger, Jorah… fuck. Jorah was sprinting across the sand, his sword now belted around his waist, and pulling his wife by the hand. "Shit!" I yelled. "Dacey!"

Her head snapped up from where she was looking at a wounded guardsman at my shout, and I pointed my sword at our uncle's retreating back. "Get him!" she yelled, gesturing for me to go.

"Shit, shit, SHIT!" I said. I dropped my sword and unstrapped my shield, then fumbled with the buckles on my breastplate for a moment before allowing it to fall to the ground. As soon as the heavy steel fell away from me, I took off, sprinting after the fleeing couple.

I had closed to within a few meters when Jorah looked back and saw me gaining. "Lynesse," he panted, "go to the boat." Then he split away from her, ducking into the woods lining the beach. Looking at the shore, I saw what he meant. A longboat sat on the beach, a group of slavers grabbing at the oars.

Stop the boat, catch Jorah. Stop the boat, catch Jorah. "DAMNIT!" I screamed, then turned and ran into the woods after my uncle. He left a clear trail, broken branches, trampled plants, and footprints in the mud the recent rain had left. Finally, I burst out into a clearing and saw Jorah standing in the middle of the circle of trees, the beach on the right and a rock formation on the left. He was standing in the middle of the clearing, his hands on his knees, panting. "Uncle!" I said. "Enough of this! The slavers are dead, your wife is most likely gone, and you can't outrun me. Come home. Let us help you."

He stared at me for a moment before speaking. "Perhaps…" He was interrupted by a roar, emanating from a cave neither of us had noticed in the rocks. A massive brown bear lumbered out of the cave, and I could see the shape of one or two cubs in what I now realized was a cave entrance. Jorah looked between me, the bear, and the dinghy, which was just now pushing away from shore. "I'm sorry, nephew." He turned and ran through the trees, waving at the oarsmen aboard the dinghy.

I turned to face the bear, just in time to see it lower its head and charge. I dove to one side, and its head barely grazed my chest. The weight and momentum of the bear were still sufficient to throw me aside, the wind knocked out of me by the pair of impacts with the bear and the ground. I pushed myself up painfully, coming to one knee and drawing my only weapon, my dagger. A twenty centimeter length of castle-forged steel was all that stood between me and a raging mama bear. I held the dagger in front of me and braced as I heard the bear huff and scuff her feet in preparation of a charge. The heavy footfalls started as I closed my eyes, pounding closer and closer until….

Nothing. No impact, no pain. The footfalls had stopped right in front of me, and I slowly opened my eyes. The bear stood on her back legs, towering over me, her head cocked to one side. As I watched, she dropped back to all fours, her front paws landing less than a meter away from me. A low, powerful sound echoed from the bear, and after a moment I realized she wasn't growling, but rather making a humming sound. She padded closer, poked my shoulder with her nose, and then rested her chin on my arms, forcing me to lower my dagger with the weight of her head. I could do nothing but stare in shock at the sudden intelligence and restraint she showed. And when I thought about it, the sound she made reminded me of a cat's purr more than anything.

"What the hell is going on?" I asked the air. The bear snorted gently, then turned back towards her cave. I stood, slowly, and sheathed my dagger. If she tried to kill me, there was nothing it would do in any case. As she padded away, she looked back and nodded her head towards her cave. The entire experience was so far beyond the pale of reason, I obeyed, following her towards her cubs. When I was within a meter or so of the entrance, she stopped, turning broadside and using her bulk to stop me. Then she walked into her cave, disappearing into the shadow. She reappeared a moment later, carrying one of her cubs with her teeth in the scruff of its neck.

She deposited the cub at my feet, then looked at it and me, her head going back and forth multiple times. "You want me to… take it?" I said. Was I really talking to a bear? She nodded at me. The same way a human would, she nodded. There was nothing that could have prepared me for this. The closest thing I could think of to being handed a bear cub was being handed one of the half-wild dogs from the kennels. I crouched down in front of it, holding my hand in front of its nose. It snuffled my hand, its nose wet and cold like a dog's, then licked me. I scratched its ears, and it pressed into my hand. Some things stayed the same, then. I kept scratching until it rolled onto its back. It was a he, and I scratched his tum-tum. I couldn't help it, the little bugger was adorable.

A chuffing sound came from above me, and I realized that, kneeling, I was shorter than mama bear. She swatted a paw at her cub, pushing him towards me, then fixed her gaze past my shoulder. I looked behind me, and saw a group of guardsmen led by my sister charging towards me. She chuffed one more time, then retreated into the cave, the other cub, who had been watching from the entrance, disappearing into the darkness with its mother.

Dacey burst into the clearing, her axe in hand. "Jonah, get away from that cub! Where there's a cub there's a mother, you know that!" she shouted.

I looked at her with an eyebrow raised, then scooped up the cub, holding him like a baby. He seemed to like that, and the look of shock on my sister's face was well worth the fact that he was damned heavy. "Believe it or not, Dacey, but I am aware of the habits of bears. I already met the mother," I told her.

"What the hell does that mean?" she said.

I gave her the short version of the events of the last few minutes. Unsurprisingly, she fixated on a different part of the story than my encounter with the bear. "Uncle Jorah got away?" she asked.

"Aye," I said. "Mama bear interfered, and by the time I was certain she wasn't going to kill me he was gone."

"Damnit!" she shouted, and the cub started in my arms, the movement reminding me exactly how heavy he was. I put him on the ground and sat next to him, keeping a hand on him. The other humans in the clearing obviously intimidated him, but he seemed comfortable with me. How I knew, I couldn't tell you.

"There's nothing more to be done, sister," I said quietly. "We should return to Mother's Hall and report to mother."

Dacey growled. Loudly. It sounded not unlike the actual bear I had just encountered, rather than a woman whose House bore the sigil of a bear. "You're right," she said eventually, then turned to the guardsman next to her. "Tell Jonos to round up the men and get the wounded loaded on their horses. We're returning. Oh, and tell him there's no need to rush. We can take it slow for the wounded as Lord Stark should take at least four days to arrive and the trip shouldn't take more than three."

Within an hour, the party was mounted and heading back west, back to the new Lady of Bear Island. My cub trotted next to my horse, a leather collar and lead fashioned from some discarded leather strips I had found in the Tyroshi camp. I sighed and put my heels to Roach, riding as fast as I could with my bear alongside with me.

**A/N Part Two: Hi! Want to clarify a couple things. I've adjusted ages of the Mormont children more or less as I please, as I haven't been able to find anything that states their ages beyond Lyanna being ten in Season Eight of the show, so I aged her up so I could write her in. I also couldn't find an official name for the Mormont's longhall, so I named it Mother's Hall. Seems appropriate for such a female-dominated family. Lastly, the bear is not the species brown bear, she was a color brown bear. I'm basing them off of a grizzly, but since this is a fantasy world and I know next to nothing about bears, that may go off the rails. Hope you enjoy, and I hope for you guys that I update this and finish the first chapter of Will of Beskar soon! **_**Valar morghulis, mir'shebs**_**.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two: Winter is Coming**

Our wounded were less injured than we had first thought, and we arrived back at Mother's Hall shortly before sunset on the second day, having slept the first night in a small hunting village. Mother must have put sentries out, because she was waiting for us at the gate when we arrived. I was in the back of the column, as my bear had scared the living hell out of the horses when I rode in the middle. He didn't seem to bother Roach, fortunately, so we simply stayed back and out of the way. Dacey was at the front of the column and as soon as she was out of the way on the other side of the gate she swung off, instantly enveloped by a hug while mother scrutinized her, looking for injuries. I saw the moment when she found the hastily bandaged sword cut on Dacey's upper arm, and winced at the look she gave her daughter for not taking the time to stitch it up and bandage it properly. By that time, the guards had dropped their horses at the stables, and I rode through the gate, my bear trotting happily by my side.

I swung off my horse, shortening the lead to my cub before turning towards my mother. "Jonah," she said, her voice calm. "Is that a bear? On a leash?"

The confidence I had felt while dealing with my uncle disappeared in the face of my mother's tone. "Uhm… yes, ma'am," I said.

"Hm," she grunted, then grabbed me in a hug as she had my sister. "I hope you avoided any injuries, or at least had the sense to take care of them if you did." She glanced at Dacey as she spoke, causing my usually brash sister to look down and scuff her foot in the dirt.

I had to chuckle, and was swiftly rewarded by a poke in the ribs that nearly double me over. The mama bear's initial attack had bruised several ribs, and the wince wasn't something my own mama bear would miss. "Just some bruised ribs, mother," I said, staring daggers at Dacey. "I wrapped them when we camped in Hunter's Haven last night, and they haven't bothered me until _someone_ jabbed me in them."

Someone chose that moment to come barreling out of the longhall and slam into my ribs, drawing another grunt of pain. "Jonah! You're back! Is Uncle Jorah with you? Did you fight slavers? Why do you have a bear cub on a leash?" Lyanna carried on rattling off questions, never releasing her death grip on my ribs.

"Lya," I gasped out. "Ribs. Bruised. Off."

She released instantly, shame in her eyes. "Sorry, Jonah," she said. "Can I pet the bear?"

"S'okay, and you can pet the bear later," I told her, and she immediately turned and hurled herself at Dacey. I turned back to mother, who was smiling at her daughters. Alysane, Lyra, and Jory were all coming out of the longhall, Aly and and Lyra dressed in riding leathers and rushing ahead, while Jory picked her way through the mud, always trying to keep her dress as clean as she could. I held up a hand before they could reach me, warding them off. "Bruised ribs," I told them, "maybe broken now that Lya's been through."

That drew a laugh from my sisters. We were as close as siblings with as much age separation as we had could be, but we still always thought it was funny when someone got hurt. They spent a moment looking at the bear, pet him a bit, then moved on to Dacey. I felt an arm circle my shoulders, and looked over to see my mother standing next to me, guiding me towards the hall and away from my sisters, who were now swarming Dacey. I stopped to get a hug from Jory, along with a whispered barb about not being a good enough fighter to not get my ribs smashed to bits. Then we continued into the hall. "Dacey needs to get that wound looked after, so I want you to tell me everything that happened," she said.

I took a breath, then started the story once again, starting with reaching the beach and ending with the trip back. "I don't know what exactly was going on with that bear," I finished. "I've never seen an animal act like that, especially when its young are threatened."

Mother was quiet for a moment, before speaking abruptly. "Have you ever heard of wargs?" she asked.

"Aye," I said. "Skinchangers, people who could slip into the skins of animals. Most of the stories paint them as evil, but I know there have been a few Mormont wargs, and even more Starks."

"That's about right," she mused, turning away from me to examine a battered, bloodstained boar spear on the wall of the longhall. "Your father was a warg."

The admission was unexpected, but not surprising. Mother had always said that that our father was a bear, after all. "Was?" I asked.

"Aye," she said. "Was. He was a hunter from Haven. We met when I was a girl, though things didn't become romantic until shortly before Dacey was conceived. He was killed on a hunt about a month after Lyanna was born." She turned back to me, meeting my eyes, a glint in her eye I couldn't look away from. "He was mauled by a she-bear protecting her cubs."

I looked down at my little cub, sitting on his rump next to me quietly. He met my gaze calmly, but there was none of the spark of unnatural intelligence I had seen in the mother bear. He was a bright little creature, but at the end of the day he was just a bear. "This isn't…" I began, but mother cut me off.

"No, this one would be from a new litter, even if it was the same bear. And I think it was. Your father wouldn't be one to go quietly, it wouldn't surprise me if he slipped into the bear as he died to protect the rest of the hunting party. Most of his consciousness would be gone by now, but there must have been enough of him left to protect his son. And to give him a gift."

"A gift?" I asked.

"Aye. A bear, even a young cub like that one, shouldn't be that calm around people. You've bonded with him. And if your horse didn't spook at the bear, I would guess you've bonded with it too. I always knew this may happen with one of you, but with him gone I'm not sure how to teach you what you need to know." Mother was quiet for a moment while we both processed the new information. "You turn sixteen next year," she said. "You'll be a man grown, and you've never gone further off of Bear Island than the coast to pick up supplies. When Lord Stark arrives I'm going to arrange to have you fostered at Winterfell."

"Winterfell, mother?" I asked. She was right, I had never been far from home, and the thought of going so far so suddenly, while it didn't quite scare me, definitely was not an idea I was entirely comfortable with. "Why not the Glovers? They're closer," I began, but she cut me off again.

"You will go to Winterfell if I can arrange it," she said. "You need to travel more, and after the disgrace your uncle has brought on us the best way to regain our honor may be to have a Mormont in the house of the Starks."

I bowed my head, acceding to her will. "Yes, mother."

Three days later Lord Stark arrived on Bear Island. My mother, my five siblings, and I waited in the courtyard of Mother's Hall for his arrival, guardsmen lining the path from the gate to where we stood. Some of the guards on duty bore wounds from the fight with the slavers, though luckily none of our men had walked away with crippling or lethal injuries. The smallfolk of the small town nearby stood behind the guards, hoping to catch a glimpse of the Warden of the North, along with servants and children from the keep itself. My bear, who I had named Wojtek (another name I wasn't sure why I chose), sat on his haunches next to me, a proper leash around his neck and his tongue lolling out while I absent-mindedly scratched his head.

The little bear was only about a foot long, but he already weighed twenty pounds, most of it muscle. Wojtek was well-mannered for the most part, but twenty pounds of clumsy bear cub was nonetheless a potentially destructive force in a small keep like ours. So, I kept him with me, and on a leash when I deemed it necessary.

The ground had mostly dried from the rain over the last few days, and we heard the beat of hoofs on the dirt before we saw the party. When they came into view, I was mildly disappointed by how small the group was. A tall man rode in front, flanked on either side by guardsmen carrying banners emblazoned with the dire wolf sigil of House Stark. Behind them rode four more guardsmen, and a pair of boys who looked to be a bit younger than me. The party rode up to within a few feet of us, then the tall man swung off his horse, followed by one of the two guardsmen flanking him, who handed his banner to his fellow.

Mother bowed, and the rest of us followed her example. "Lord Stark," she said, "Welcome to Mother's Hall. The keep is yours."

I examined the Lord of Winterfell out of the corner of my eye. A tall man, as I had already noted, he appeared to be well-built under his heavy furs, and the sword he carried at his hip looked like it belonged there. His shoulder-length brown hair was pulled back, and his proud nose and grey eyes gave him a striking, if not particularly handsome, face. The hilt of a greatsword poked up over his right shoulder, which could only be Ice, the Valyrian steel ancestral sword of the Starks. "Lady Mormont," he responded, bowing his head a moment, "shall we move inside to discuss matters?"

"Aye, m'lord," mother responded, and the party broke up almost instantly. As mother guided Lord Stark inside, she glanced over her shoulder at me and jerked her head towards the boys who had ridden in with the Warden. The message was clear, so I set off across the yard towards the stable, where the boys were unsaddling their own horses.

"We may be a small house, but we do have stable boys," I said as I walked towards them.

The two looked like brothers, though one was taller and auburn-haired, while the other wore his black hair long. The taller turned, his posture stiff, but relaxed when he saw the grin on my face. He responded with a smile of his own. "Aye, but Father says it's better to learn to care for your own mount before you start handing it over to the stablehands. In any case, I… Is that a bear?"

The last question was a yelp as he noticed Wojtek padding along next to me, still on his lead. "Aye. Our sigil is a bear for a reason, after all," I said. "I'm Jonah Mormont, Lady Mormont's third child."

The tall one was still gaping at Wojtek, so the black hair responded. "The fool who's lost his senses is Robb Stark, Lord Stark's eldest. My name is Jon Snow, Lord Stark's bastard."

Robb had recovered his senses, and frowned at his half-brother. "You may be a bastard, Jon, but you're still my brother."

Jon opened his mouth to respond, then his eyes cut towards me and he stopped. It seemed this wasn't the first time they'd had this argument. When he opened his mouth again, he directed his question at me. "A bear may be the sigil of your house, but none of the Starks have direwolves. None of the Umbers keep a pet giant, so why do you have a bear?"

I chuckled at the logic he had run through before answering. "It's actually a recent development," I sobered suddenly, "and a long story. Suffice to say it involves my uncle."

I saw the calculations of the family tree run through their heads before they realized my uncle was the erstwhile Lord, and they winced almost at the same time. "I'm sorry about all this," Robb said, the look on his face conveying genuine distress. His father had taught him well, even I could recognize that.

I shrugged. "It is what it is," I told them. "Life goes on, wildlings attack, pirates raid, people are born, people die, and people make stupid decisions for stupid reasons. Let's go inside, your father and my mother should have finished the pleasantries by now."

We crossed the yard, slipping into the hall. Lord Stark was seated on the bear seat, mother sitting in a chair to his right while they talked in low voices. Dacey stood in front of them, standing stiffly at attention, a position heavily at odds with the dress she wore. She must have just finished telling the story to Lord Stark. We trooped down the hall, stopping just behind Dacey. She tilted her head just enough to see who it was out of the corner of her eye, then gave me a slight nod.

I returned the gesture, and a moment later Lord Stark spoke up. "Robb, come and listen. You may have to deal with this kind of situation when you are Lord," he turned and smiled gently at mother, "though I doubt we'll have this problem again with House Mormont."

"Aye," my mother growled. "I know where my loyalties lie, and I won't trade my honor for riches. Nor will any of my children. Dacey, stay. My heir should be familiar with her liege lord."

"Ah, mother?" I interrupted.

She looked up at me, a level of stress evident in her face, but she didn't seem bothered by my interruption. "Yes, Jonah?"

"Apologies, Lord Stark," I said, "Is there anything you need of me, mother?"

She thought for a moment, then shook her head. "You are free for the rest of the day," she said.

I inclined my head to her, bowed to Lord Stark, then turned to walk away, nudging Snow as I did so. He followed me out of the hall and towards the training ground. "Where are we going?" he asked.

"Armory," I said. "You look like you know how to swing a sword, and our parents will be a while."

A smile spread across his face, which had largely remained emotionless to this point. "Aye, trained by the best master-at-arms in the North," he said.

I grinned back. "You may have the best master-at-arms, but I was trained by my mother and my sister," I responded. "You don't have a prayer."

"You were trained by women?" he asked surprise in his voice.

I gave him a wide-eyed look. "Never underestimate a woman, my friend," I said. "They're vicious, especially if you win."

"Truer words," a new voice came, and Alysane dropped into step with us. "Who's this?" she asked me, jerking a thumb at Jon.

Jon answered before I could. "My name is Jon Snow, m'lady. Lord Stark's bastard."

Aly threw back her head and laughed, and Jon looked affronted until she grinned at him. "I'm no lady, Jon Snow," she said. "Just the spare, and one with more talent for the sword than any of the _ladylike arts_." For the last she imitated the snooty tone of a septa who had come through a couple of years before, trying to convert the godless Northerners. Godless, ha. We worshipped the old gods, not the Andal's seven. "Are you two heading for the training yard?"

"Aye," I responded. "Coming?"

"And miss a chance to thrash you?" she said, "Never."

We both laughed, and Jon joined in after a moment. We arrived at the armory shortly, and while Aly and I retrieved our training gear, one of the apprentices found a spare set that would fit Jon's smaller frame, as well as a blunted training sword and a shield. I retrieved the blunted bastard sword I used for training, and Aly did the same. We also retrieved training versions of our personal weapons, my spear and Aly's Braavosi rapier. We left those leaning against the wall of the smith, along with telling Wojtek to stay, while we stepped out into the yard, each with the same weapons and armor. "So," I asked. "Tournament or melee?"

Yet another new voice joined in. "Melee!" The shout came from Lyra, the oldest of my three younger sisters. She was already wearing training armor and carrying sword and shield.

"Yeah! Melee!" Lyanna piped up from beside Lyra, waving her little wooden sword around wildly.

I chuckled and walked over, scooping her up and putting her on my shoulder, causing her to squeal in delight and grab onto my hair. I winced, but dealt with it. "Sorry, Lya, you're a little too young to fight in a melee," I said. I knew without looking that she'd be pouting, so I moved on quickly. "Why don't you keep Wojtek company?"

That brought another squeal out of her. She loved that bear, and he loved her. After my talk with mother, I now knew why I had general impressions of what my cub and sometimes my horse was thinking, but I still hadn't made any progress with skinchanging or intentionally sensing what they were feeling. "Wo!" she yelled. "Let's play!"

The little cub stood up from where he had been sitting and walked over, meeting me partway. When I set her down, he licked her face, and she giggled and wrapped her arms as far around his neck as she could. Knowing they were taken care of, I turned back to others to see Jon's incredulous face. "I can understand keeping the bear," he said, "but you trust it to be alone with your little sister?"

I grinned at him. "Eh, they'll be fine. Wojtek loves Lya," I told him.

He glanced over at me, the question on his face easily readable. "She was named after your aunt Lyanna, yes," I told him. "So. Melee?"

The other three nodded, and we all retreated a few steps. Aly shouted to start and the four of us closed in, hacking and slashing at each other.

We spent the rest of the day fighting, riding around the island, and stealing food from the kitchens when we were hungry. Jorelle joined us when we went riding, and put us all to shame in an archery contest, which led to another fight in the training yard. Jon had acquitted himself well, especially considering he was only eleven, meaning myself and Alysane were four and five years older than him, respectively. Lyra was his age, and she was hard-pressed to beat him, even though she had started training with the sword earlier than he had.

Close to dinner time, one of the guardsmen came to find us in the yard, and told us that there would be a feast in the longhall to celebrate Lord Stark's coming. We were all expected to be there, which meant washing the dirt, grime, and sweat from riding and training off. We split apart, each going to our quarters.

An hour or so later, we were seated at the high table, Mother occupying the lord's seat with Lord Stark to her right. Robb sat next to him, then Alysane, followed by Jon and Lyra. Dacey sat to Mother's left, then me, and finally Jory with Lyanna on her lap. Lord Stark had offered to have Jon sit with the men, but mother had shot that down quickly. Bear Island had different views on bastards than most of Westeros, with the exception of Dorne.

As the feast went on, seats shuffled, and most of us wound up sitting down on the benches so we could all talk. Robb and Dacey were stuck at the high table, and I made sure to send Dacey as many mocking looks as I could. Jon, sitting next to me, did the same to Robb. As the feast wound down most of us had had a few drinks. I drank down two mugs of ale, but it wasn't the first time so I felt more of a pleasant buzz than anything else. Jon, on the other hand, had obviously never done much in the way of drinking, and was midway through his fourth mug. Lyra had been matching him drink for drink, and the two of them could barely hold themselves upright. A shadow fell across my back, and I turned to see Dacey standing over me, Robb next to her. They both looked highly amused.

"Seems your brother is a lightweight," Dacey mused.

"Seems so," Robb replied.

"You still conscious, Jonah?" Dacey asked, nudging my shoulder.

I turned and spoke indignantly. "Of course I am. I have enough sense to limit my drinking," I said, then turned to Robb with a wide grin. "Unlike _some_ people."

Robb shrugged. "Father generally only lets us have one glass of wine at feasts," he explained.

I snorted. "If you drank that little on Bear Island people would think you were a child."

Robb raised an eyebrow and looked himself up and down. "Right. Twelve," I said. "Alright, I may be a _little_ drunk."

Wojtek chose that moment to come running over, slamming into Robb's legs and nearly knocking him over. He had been perfectly behaved since we returned, and so mother had agreed to let him loose in the hall during the feast so long as I kept an eye on him. Even the dogs didn't mind him, and some of the bigger ones didn't mind playing with the dumb lug.

Robb laughed as he nearly lost his balance and knelt down to scratch the bear cub's jaw. "I still don't understand how you managed to get a pet _bear_," he said.

I grinned down at the happily panting cub. "I don't exactly understand either," I told him. Now that the two heirs were with us, we settled down on the benches to chat. Another few hours passed, and the hall emptied while the torches burned low. Jon was passed out, leaning on Robb's shoulder, and I smirked thinking about the hangover he'd have in the morning. Dacey had taken Lyanna to bed hours before, and Jory had excused herself like a good little lady would before trying to dunk Jon's head into the cold bowl of soup in front of him shortly before he passed out. Myself, Lyra, Alysane, and Robb still sat talking, each nursing a mug of ale that we had been working on since the ale stopped flowing an hour or two before.

It was the early hours of the morning, and Lyra had abandoned ship when Lord Stark walked into the hall. The servants had cleared up the mess hours before, and Jon was sprawled on the bench next to Robb. Alysane sat next to me, and Wojtek was curled up on my feet, asleep. We were all starting to drift off, unwilling to get up and return to our chambers, when Wojtek's head jerked up and footsteps echoed from the stairs on one side of the hall. I turned around and saw Lord Stark walking into the hall, though he stopped when he saw us sitting there.

"What are you all still doing here?" he asked.

Robb shot upright. "Father! Uhm…"

I grinned at him, then turned to the Warden. "Apologies, my lord. I kept them talking and we didn't realize how late it was."

"And Jon fell asleep?" he said. "Surprising."

I winced at that. "He may or may not have had a little bit too much to drink."

Lord Stark raised on eyebrow. "Oh, really?"

"Lyra may or may not have challenged him to a drinking contest," I continued.

"I see."

"And she won," I finished.

"Hm," he grunted, a disapproving look on his face. Then it cracked as he started to chuckle, and he turned to look at his son. "That," he told Robb, gesturing at Jon, "is the reason I limit how much I let you drink. You won't envy the headache he has in the morning." Stark went around the table, scooping up his younger son in his arms with surprising ease. "Come on, son. Time for you to go to bed."

Robb got up without protest, and Alysane and I quickly stood as well. "Good night, Lord Stark," she said, bowing.

I emulated her and grinned at Robb. "What do you think the odds are we get Jon into the training yard tomorrow?"

"Even if I have to drag him, he'll be there," Robb promised. "Good night."

"Good night."

The next day, none of us made an appearance in public until lunch time, when Robb, Jon, Lyra, Lyanna and myself crowded into my quarters with food we raided from the kitchens. Jon still looked green, while the rest of us were tired but otherwise unaffected by the previous night. We had all finished eating, and I held Lyanna in my lap while Wojtek rested his paws on my knees so she could rub his face. Robb and Jon were arguing over which of them was the better swordsman again, and Lyra was watching them with an amused look on her face.

A knock sounded at the door, and Lyra looked at me. I just glanced down at the girl and bear on my lap, and she sighed and stood, moving to the door. She opened it, and I heard her greeting, cluing me in to who our visitor was. "Hello, mother!" Lyra said, and I heard mother chuckle.

"I heard you had a late night last night," she said, moving into the room. "Feeling any better, Jon?"

"Some, my lady," he responded. "I'm not sure I'll ever drink again."

That drew a laugh from the room. Once it had died down, I finally spoke. "Do you need something, mother?" It seemed logical to ask, as she had come to my quarters.

"No, Jonah," she said. "I just came to tell you that the Starks will be departing tomorrow, and you will be going with them to Winterfell to foster."

I shifted in surprise, but the child in my lap kept me from moving too much. That problem was quickly remedied when Lya hopped off, so I stood up to face mother. "So soon?" I asked.

"Aye," she said, "the sooner the better. You're nearly a man grown, and you have much to learn."

"I'll need to get together armor, weapons, supplies, a few other things," I mused aloud. "What else will I- OW!"

Lyanna had retrieved her wooden sword and cracked me in the shins with it, using all the strength in her four year old body. Which was apparently enough to cause quite a bit of pain when she was holding a length of hard wood. She stood in front of me, glaring fiercely up at me, though I could see tears threatening to fall from her eyes. "You're leaving?" she asked, her voice angry.

"I am," I responded, and she reared back to swing again. This time Lyra caught it on the backswing, tugging her over backward and making her land on her rear. After that, the tears began to fall, though she stood up and rushed at me, arms spread like she was going to try to tackle me.

Instead she wrapped herself around my leg, gripping with all the strength in her body. "NO!" she shouted.

"No, what?" I said.

"You're not allowed to leave!" she said.

I sighed and reached down, prying her off of my leg and picking her up. I braced her on my hip, and she buried her face in my shoulder. I looked at the others for help, but mother just stood with her arms folded, her face impassive, and Lyra mimicked mother. Jon and Robb just looked lost. "Lya," I said, but she kept her face down. "Lya, look at me." She raised her face, tears and snot running down and hiccuping slightly. "I'm not leaving forever," I told her, "I'm just going to spend a few years with Robb and Jon at their house to learn things I can't learn here."

"But I don't WANT you to!" she whimpered.

"Lya, sometimes we have to do things we don't want to," I said gently. "We have a duty to our family and to Bear Island to make ourselves the best we can be. And for that, I have to go to Winterfell."

She had stopped crying, and her face had set in stone, a stubborn look on her face. "Fine. But Wo stays with me."

I chuckled at that. "Sorry, Lya, but Wo is still my bear. I have to take care of him."

She glared at me, but mother finally stepped in, taking Lya out of my arms. "Lya, let your brother get ready. Lyra, come with us," she said, carrying the youngest out of the room.

Lyra followed, but not before sneaking a glance back at Jon. Huh. Interesting. Then I felt a hand slap me on the back, quickly followed by another. I turned to see the two other boys grinning at me. "Looks like we're getting another brother," Robb grinned.

I smiled back. "Looks that way."

**A/N: Hey guys! Hope you enjoy! Wanted to clarify the ages of the Mormont and Stark children, so: Dacey Mormont - 18, Alysane (Aly) Mormont - 16, Jonah Mormont - 15, Lyra Mormont - 11, Jorelle (Jory) Mormont - 8, Lyanna (Lya) Mormont - 4. The Starks (and Theon) are as follows: Theon Greyjoy - 17, Robb Stark - 12, Jon Snow - 11, Sansa Stark - 7, Arya Stark - 4, Bran Stark - 3, Rickon Stark - 3 months.**

**There ya go! Please leave a review, I don't have an editor and so I welcome any feedback.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three: Winterfell**

It took us the better part of two weeks to make it back to Winterfell, with Lord Stark paying a visit to Deepwood Motte, the ancestral home of House Glover, and Castle Cerwyn, ancestral home of House Cerwyn. Our winding progress had us approaching the great citadel of the North from the south, and the first glimpse I caught of what would be my home for a time came when we crested a low hill. The castle sprawled out before us, a monstrosity built of grey stone. It was surrounded on all sides by a high curtain wall, with a group of towers thrusting into the sky from the middle. An ancient weirwood was also contained within the walls, and I could see a massive tree that could only be a heartree poking up above the limit of the wall.

"Quite the sight, isn't it." A voice came from right behind me, and I realized that in my awe at the size of Winterfell I hadn't noticed its Lord ride up behind me.

"It is, my lord," I said. "I've never seen it's like."

Stark chuckled at that. "Never seen its like in all your travels, have you?"

I flushed, but Stark's laugh was friendly, and the hand he rested on my shoulder seemed almost paternal. "My lord…" I began, but he cut me off.

"Don't worry, lad," he said, "just having a bit of fun at your expense. This will be your home for the next few years. Your mother has asked me to take you in and teach you of the wider North, and while we may have named it fostering that is only in name. You will be an apprentice of sorts, learning the lessons I will teach Robb in time."

I looked at the ground, unable or unwilling to meet the face of my lord who would take on such a thing for a third son of a minor House like myself. "My lord, I don't know what to say," I stammered. Then I gathered my courage to ask the question that needed asking. "But… why me, my lord? I have two older sisters, an heir and a spare."

"Aye, you do," he said. "And your sister Dacey will make a fine Lady of Bear Island after your mother. But there are lords who will never respect a woman's rule. Dacey will be the Lady, or if gods forbid something should happen, Alysane, but you will be the link to the mainland lords. You will be the one sent to ask for men, for supplies, for whatever you need. You will be your House's diplomat," he tapped my face to get me to look at him, and I saw a twinkle in his eyes, "or more likely your House's champion based on all the Mormonts I've known."

I had to smile at that. Centuries of conflict with all manner of foes had made us of House Mormont poor diplomats and canny warriors, a fact Lord Stark seemed to appreciate. "Thank you, my lord," I said quietly.

He greeted my words with a smile, then turned to the rest of the party, his two sons and six guardsman. "We're nearly home! Let's ride!" he called.

"I bet I can beat you to the gate, Jonah!" Robb yelled, spurring his horse into a canter.

"No chance!" I returned, and spurred Roach to match his speed as he sped up to a gallop. "Wojtek, stay with Lord Stark!" I shouted behind me. The bear had been ambling along beside us the entire time, but he mostly followed my commands and I figured he would do as I said.

We pelted down the hill, settling onto a flat that stretched the last few kilometers between us and the castle. I kept Roach reigned in, matching Robb's pace, a pace I knew Roach could maintain for as long as I needed him to. Then Jon went pelting past, eager to beat both of us, and Robb took off after him. I increased Roach's speed enough to keep them in sight, but no more. Soon enough, the two brothers began to slow as their mounts energy began to flag, and I began to gain. Soon enough I was even with them, which seemed to spur them and their mounts to greater speeds. We galloped across the plain towards the gates, neck and neck. Until I gave Roach a kick and let go of the reins and we flew ahead like an arrow from a scorpion. The brothers horses were too tired to even try to keep up, and I raced far in front of them, until I finally brought Roach to a skidding stop at the gate of Winterfell. And scaring the living hell out of the two guards standing on each side.

Robb and Jon arrived moments later, their horses sides heaving and foaming at the mouth. "You tricky ass!" Jon exclaimed, his tone light.

"Jon," his brother said warningly.

"Father's not here, and Alyn and Fat Tom aren't going to rat me out, are you?" he said, looking at the two guards on duty.

One of them, I assumed Alyn since he was skinny, grinned up at Jon. "We won't need to, Jon," he said, then jerked his head over his shoulder.

Standing behind him was a burly, white-haired man, whose hair hung down in front and was tied into a tail under his chin, seemingly to counteract his encroaching baldness. Jon's face went slightly pale. "Ser Rodrik," he sputtered, "I, uhm, I…"

Ser Rodrik maintained a stern face for a moment, then burst into soft laughter. "Don't worry, boy, your father need not hear of this so long as I see you in the yard on time tomorrow," he said.

"Yes, ser," Jon said, his voice relieved.

The knight nodded, satisfied, then turned to look at me. "And who's this, then?"

I swung off my horse and sketched a short bow. Politeness never hurt anything. "I am Jonah Mormont, ser, third child of Lady Maege Mormont," I said. Wojtek, who had apparently _not_ listened when I told him to stay, chose that moment come running, smashing into my legs and nearly bowling me over.

The two guards grabbed for their swords, but quickly relaxed when I simply started laughing and bent down to scratch the bear cub's ears. "A Mormont, eh?" Rodrik said. "Robb, I assume your father isn't far behind?"

Robb nodded. "Yes, ser," he said. "We raced ahead, but Father, Jory, and the other guards shouldn't be far behind."

"Get your horses taken care of, boys," he said to the brothers before turning to me. "I am Ser Rodrik Cassel," he said, "master-at-arms in Winterfell. Welcome to the castle, Lord Mormont."

"Well met, Ser Cassel," I responded. "Don't worry about Wojtek here, he's well-trained."

This was met with a bushy arched eyebrow. "Hmph. I'll believe it when I see it. I'll instruct the steward to prepare rooms for you. Do you know how long you'll be staying with us?"

"He's fostering with us, Ser Rodrik," Ned Stark said, reigning his horse in next where I stood with my horse and bear on either side of me.

"At his age?" the old knight asked.

"Aye," Stark responded. "His mother asked that he stay with us for a time to learn more of the North. I agreed."

Cassel gave a short bow. "As my lord wishes. I'll instruct the steward to find some rooms near the boys."

Stark turned towards me next. "Jonah, you can leave your horse at the stables. Your things will be moved to your rooms once they've been set aside, until then feel free to familiarize yourself with the castle. A bell will ring when it's time for dinner in the Great Hall, just over there." He pointed to our right, indicating a large, L-shaped building. "Your quarters will be in the Great Keep, the drum tower near the hall. There's a sept if you want it, and the godswood is past the well, near the guest house." He pointed again, this time west-northwest.

I bowed to him. "Thank you, my lord. We will see you when the bell rings, then," I said. He nodded and spurred his horse forward towards the stables, swinging off to hand it to a stable hand once he was there. I followed, taking Roach's reigns in hand to guide him there. "Wojtek, follow."

This time the little bear actually obeyed me, padding along at my side as I crossed the castle entryway, quickly reaching the stables. I handed Roach's reigns to a stable boy who was openly gaping at Wojtek. "Don't worry, he's friendly," I smiled, and gave Wojtek a nudge with my foot. "Say hi, boy."

The bear stepped forward, nuzzling at the boy's hand until he gave the bear's ears a scratch. Then the cub stepped back to my side, leaving the stableboy smiling. "I'll take good care of your horse, my lord," he said.

"Thank you," I said. "Would you mind giving him some extra grain? He just finished beating the pants off of Lord Stark's boys in a race."

The stable boy smiled wider and was about to respond when another voice cut him off. "Boy! Take care of my horse!"

I turned to see who was speaking, and saw a male about my own age sitting on a horse of his own, looking at me. I was wearing sweaty, dirty riding leathers, so the mix up was understandable. Or it was until I saw the kraken pin on the boy's cloak. "Go fuck yourself, Greyjoy," I spat. My family had been fighting the damned ironborn for longer than any man alive could remember, and I hated them more than I hated any other enemy of my House. Most of our enemies killed or raided to survive. The ironborn did it for _fun_.

The other swung off of his horse and advanced towards me. "_What_ did you just say to me, boy?" he snarled.

"I told you to go fuck yourself, you kraken piece of shit," I said.

"Do you have any idea who you're…"

I cut him off. "Theon Greyjoy, ward to Lord Stark, heir to the Iron Islands, and by all accounts a pitiful lecher who has to pay for it if he wants it." I left my reference veiled, knowing he would understand.

His face turned red, and he yanked a knife from his belt. "I'll cut out your tongue, you, you…"

His voice trailed off once more as I drew my longsword from its sheath at my side, the steel glinting in the late afternoon sun. The color drained from his face when Wojtek stepped up to my side and growled, a deep rumbling sound that belied his size and spoke to his ferocity. "Do you know who you're talking to?" I asked. "My name is Jonah Mormont, third child of the Lady of Bear Island. You wouldn't be the first man I killed, if a man you are. Can you say the same?"

Theon tensed, preparing to rush me, and I shifted my sword into a vertical guard to deflect his thrust. Then a voice cracked through the air like a whip, snapping both of us out of our focus. "What's going on here?" the voice came from a slight, balding, older man in the grey robes of a maester of the Citadel.

Theon stepped back, letting the hand that held the knife drop to his side, so I did the same, dropping my sword from its guard position. "Maester Luwin," Theon said, "this _boy_ insulted me…"

"So you were going to pick a fight with nothing but a knife, while he carried a sword and obviously knew how to use it? Not to mention a bear?" the maester said. His eyes were fixed on Wojtek and I, his interest seemingly piqued by the fact that I had a bear at my side, especially since he had stopped growling as soon as I lowered my weapon. "Did you insult him?" the maester asked me.

"I did, maester," I said. No sense lying, there were a dozen witnesses in the area.

"Why?" Luwin asked.

"Why not?" I challenged. "He's a Greyjoy, one of the chief scum of the scum of Westeros. My family has been killing his ilk for centuries, what's one more to the pile?"

Luwin's look froze me in my verbal tracks. Apparently this wasn't his first time dealing with angry lordlings. "You are a guest in Lord Stark's house. You will not offer insult or harm to his ward. I would have you apologize and shake hands, but I fear that would have no effect right now. So. I expect you both in the practice yard tomorrow morning after breakfast to settle this. After that I expect you _both_ to conduct yourselves as members of Lord Stark's household should. Do I make myself understood?" We both nodded, and Luwin shooed us away. I made for the godswood, sheathing my sword as I walked, while Theon started for the Great Hall.

I sat under the heart tree's spreading branches, my back against a tall fir's thick trunk. My weapons belt lay on the ground next to me, and Wojtek lay next to me, his head and forepaws resting on my lap. My head lolled back on my shoulders, the top resting against the same tree as my back while my hand absently petted Wojtek. My mind drifted without direction, replaying the events of the last few days as my eyes drifted closed. I drifted into a shallow sleep, the soft rumbling of my bear and wind sighing through the trees lulling me.

_A dead direwolf lay near the road, five cubs attempting to suckle at her while another cub hid nearby, driven away by his siblings. An older Robb and Jon stepped into view, looking down at the fallen beast, with their father and Theon behind them, along with another boy I didn't recognize._

_Six wolves stood in front of six children, one each for Robb and Jon, one for the boy I didn't recognize, another for a boy, a toddler, and one each for two girls, one auburn-haired and the other dark._

_A massive train of horses and carts trundled up the kingsroad towards Winterfell, a large wheelhouse in the middle of the column. A corpulent man rode through the gates, flanked by a pair of Kingsguard knights, one with hair of white and one with hair of gold._

_The boy who had been with Lord Stark and Theon climbed a shattered tower, ascending until he reached a window which lost its glass long ago. Suddenly he was falling towards the ground, and a wolf was howling._

_The fat man rode out of Winterfell once more, Lord Stark on his left and a golden-haired woman on his left. She looked very similar to the golden Kingsguard I had already seen. In her shadow rode a dwarf, with the same golden hair as the other two._

_The boy who had fallen lay in bed, a crying woman standing over him. Suddenly there was a flash of steel, a cry of pain, and gnashing, canine teeth…_

I startled awake, a bell clanging in the distance. The sun, low in the sky when I entered the godswood, was nearly gone, and Wojtek snored from his spot on my legs. I shifted my leg and he raised his head, blinking drowsily. My leg was asleep from the weight of his head, as I found out when I nearly fell over scrambling up. I grabbed my weapons belt, buckling it around my waist as I dashed towards the exit to make my way towards the Great Hall. I put the strange dream out of my mind.

I arrived at the Hall at the same time Jon did. "I heard you put Theon in his place," was what he greeted me with.

"Not yet," I said, looking up to talk to him from where I knelt to tie Wojtek's lead to a post outside the Hall. "Tomorrow in the training yard, right after we break fast."

Jon smiled. "I look forward to it. You'd best go in, Father will want you at the high table to introduce you to the rest of the family."

I nodded and entered the hall. The hall was wide and long, with eight long trestle tables across its length, four on either side of an aisle down the middle. A raised dais on the other end of the hall had a table that sat across the hall, facing all the others. I made my way towards the table, looking up at the people that already sat there as I mounted the dais at one side to circle around. Lord Stark sat in the middle, with a woman on his left, presumably his wife, a babe cradled in her lap. Robb sat on her other side, with a red-haired girl who looked much like a younger version of their mother next to him. On my side of the table sat a younger boy, with the same auburn hair as his mother, and a girl who couldn't have been more than a toddler, but even still already had her father's look. An empty chair sat next to her, and I slid into it.

"Who are you?" the girl asked, a questioning tone in her voice.

"Jonah Mormont," I said. "I'm going to be living with your family for a while, Arya." She turned away, mollified, but I was left with a frown on my face and questions. I was certain I had never met the girl before, and I was certain I hadn't known the names or ages of Lord Stark's family, but now I could name them all. I sat next to Arya Stark, a four year old. Her brother Bran was the next down the table and three years old. Lord Stark sat between Bran and his mother Catelyn Stark, formerly Tully, and the baby she held was Rickon Stark, who was about three months old. On her other side sat Robb, and beside him was Sansa, a seven year old. How I knew all this, the old gods only knew.

Bran was staring at me, wide-eyed, and I pushed such thoughts aside. "Do you have a bear?" he asked.

I smiled at the child. "I do," I told him.

"Can I see him?" he said.

"Later, Bran," I told him. "I had to leave him outside tonight."

The boy looked disappointed, but Arya quickly drew him to a conversation that distracted him and made his face light up again. A few minutes later, Lord Stark stood from his place at the center of the head table and raised a hand for silence. Quiet quickly fell over the hall, and Lord Stark began to speak. "We have a new member of the household," he began, "Jonah Mormont, third child of the Lady of Bear Island. I expect him to be treated as you would treat one of our own." He gestured for me to stand, and I realized he wanted me to speak.

"Lord Stark honors me," I said, my voice surprisingly steady. "I look forward to living and working with you for as long as I reside here." I sketched a short bow, and thought I heard a murmur of approval sweep through the hall as I retook my seat.

Lord Stark remained standing. "Let the feast begin!" he called, and servants carried the first course of the meal to the high table, while others began dropping platters at the tables below. A couple of guardsmen at one side of the hall pulled out instruments and began playing a lively song, one I had heard in taverns and halls alike. I smiled and sat back while we were served, then dug into the delicious meal of braised venison and wild greens.

The younger Starks and the majority of the older guests had retired, leaving myself, Robb, and Lord Stark at the high table. I could see Jon below, sitting with a group of guardsmen and looking like he was enjoying himself. The guards who had been playing had slowed down, obviously tipsy. I had been mildly annoyed to find that Lord Stark's drinking restrictions apparently applied to myself as well, but had shrugged it off in favor of enjoying the festivities. As I watched, one of the players set down his mandolin and stumbled away, looking distinctly green and likely looking for the privy.

I grinned and slid my chair, quickly vaulting over the table while no one was looking, and made my way towards the nook. When I reached the remaining player, he quickly stood, and nearly fell over until I grabbed his elbow to steady him. "A-a-apologies, m'lord," he slurred.

I gave him a reassuring grin. "No harm, no foul, friend. Mind if I try my hand at your friend's instrument?"

He smiled at me drunkenly. "Aye, m'lord. He'll have his head halfway down the privy by now," he chuckled.

I scooped up the mandolin and strummed a couple of chords, adjusting to the different feel of the mandolin. My mandolin back home, which was still packed up in a trunk somewhere, was made by a different luthier, and they all had their quirks. Adjusted to the new instrument, I leaned back over to the drunken player and whispered into his ear. He nodded eagerly, and I started the strum pattern while he kept the beat with his drum. After a couple of moments, just as people were noticing that the visitor from Bear Island was the one playing, I launched into song. Luckily for me, puberty had hit early and deepened my voice, and it had finally stopped cracking over the last month or so.

_A bear, there was a bear, a bear!_

_All black and brown and covered in hair!_

_Three boys, a goat, and a dancing bear!_

_They danced and spun up to the fair!_

Laughter started going around the hall as they realized which song one of the ruling House of Bear Island was playing.

_How sweet she was, and pure and fair,_

_The maid with honey up in her hair,_

_He smelled her all on the summer air,_

_The maid with honey up her hair!_

People had begun to sing along, and I could see Jon and Robb laughing, while even the taciturn Lord Eddard Stark had cracked a smile.

_From there to here, from here to there,_

_All black and brown and covered in hair,_

_He smelled that girl in the summer air!_

_The bear, the bear and the maiden fair!_

The whole hall was singing along, not that there were many left in the hall who weren't both young and uproariously drunk, but even Lord Stark mouth was moving along with the song. A couple of verses later the song ended, and the drummer sagged back, his eyes heavily lidded from drink and the exertion of playing for a couple of hours. I started another song, unaccompanied this time, the chords coming naturally but somehow seeming unfamiliar to my ears.

_Torches of war under hatred's sails, a whisper of doom on a wary breeze,_

_Scorching the shores in a blazing trail, cinder and fumes foul the air we breathe,_

_Blood of fallen kings, blades of chaos ring, steel and silver ring, for justice_

I sang softly, the lyrics echoing in the newly quiet hall. I had no idea where it was coming from, but the song was low, haunting, but with a powerful energy coursing under it.

_Keen to the scent, the hunt is my muse, a means to an end this path that I choose,_

_Lost and aloof are the loves of my past, wake the White Wolf! Remembrance at last._

_Wake the White Wolf at the dawn of war! The end of the age is a-coming now,_

My volume increased through the verse, and my eyes fastened onto Jon as I sang, I knew not why.

_Sign of flame will sting, punishment I bring, steel and silver sing, for justice…_

I let the song trail off, though I knew more would come if I asked for it. The hall was quiet, until applause rang through the hall. I saw that it started with Lord Eddard, and then it quickly spread through the hall, even before they knew who had started it. That seemed to signal something, as the feast broke up shortly after. More than a few walked by where I still sat after setting down the mandolin, clapping my shoulder or offering a gruff compliment. Finally, the hall was empty, and I sat alone. The hour was late and I had a duel in the morning. I stood up and went to my chambers, collapsing into bed and falling asleep almost instantly.

I stood in the practice yard, wearing light leather training gear and wearing my blunted training sword at my hip. A small buckler sat on my left arm, securely strapped in place. A blunted dagger rode my right hip, opposite my sword. My opponent stood on the other side of the yard. Greyjoy wore a heavy leather jerkin as opposed to my light, flexible one, but was otherwise similarly armed. Beyond the weight of our armor and the protection it offered, the only noticeable differences between our equipment was that he carried a standard longsword while I wielded a hand-and-a-half bastard sword, and rather than tassets the battle skirt Mormont soldiers wore protected my legs. Both of us wore helmets, his a standard Stark guardsman's, mine a low profile helm that sept back to a point in the back and covered my face but for a T-visor that wrapped further around than usual to provide extra visibility.

Ser Rodrik strode into the middle of the yard once we had both finished securing our gear. "Greyjoy. Mormont," he said. "Don't kill each other. This fight is to settle your differences from yesterday, not to defend your families' honor. Go at it."

Theon seemed surprised by the abrupt start. I wasn't. I may have had my first real battle only recently, but Mormont warriors were trained to seize any advantage, including an abrupt start. I rushed forward, my momentum carrying me into him before he could take more than a few steps. I launched an overhead slash at his helm, my momentum adding extra force to the strike. He snapped his buckler up, deflecting my attack to one side. The force of my rush still carried me into him, forcing him back. Even so, I disengaged quickly, stepping back into a fighting stance, my buckler raised and my sword ready to parry or slash as needed. He stepped in, launching a series of looping slashes at shoulder height and at my legs, all of which I dodged, shield blocked, or parried, moving as little as possible to conserve energy. After about thirty seconds of attacking, he realized his strategy wasn't working and stepped back himself. I took the offensive at the same time he started again, and our swords met in between us, each straining against the other. I was older and larger, but I was wiry for a bear and he was strong for a fourteen-year-old. In the middle of our deadlock, I let my face split into a grin. "Hey, Theon," I ground out. "Forgetting something?"

As his face contorted in confusion, I rammed the edge of my buckler into his ribs. The leather armor took the blunt of the blow, but it took him by surprise and forced him back a step. Instead of following with a sword blow, something he expected based on the raised shield and ready sword, I shifted my weight and threw a rising side kick into his chest, knocking him flat on his ass. I stepped with him as he fell and threw as second kick, a simple front kick that caught him in the chin and knocked his helmet off his head. I dropped to one knee, digging my grounded knee into his stomach and jabbed my shield into the wrist of his sword hand. His breath huffed out of him and his fingers spasmed, releasing the practice blade he held as I laid the blunt edge of my own blade against his throat.

"Yield," he croaked as soon as he had his breath back.

I rose and stepped back before Ser Rodrik could say anything. The old knight glanced at Theon laying on the ground. "Go get Maester Luwin to look at your wrist," he said, then turned to me. "Well fought, my lord. Your tactics were… unconventional, but undeniably effective."

I grinned in response. "Thank you, ser," I said.

"Don't let it go to your head," he grunted. "Guards train at first light every third day. I expect to see you there."

I inclined my head in a bow as he turned to walk away. "Ser." Then I turned towards the armory to shed my weapons and armor and get on with my day.

**A/N: Songs are The Bear and the Maiden Fair from the GoT soundtrack by Ramin Djawaldi and Wake the White Wolf by Miracle of Sound, check him out on Youtube, it's a great song and all his Thrones and Witcher music is awesome. White Wolf was written about the Witcher games, but I thought the first section fit Jon's story pretty well and decided to put it in. Please review, they encourage me to continue and help me refine my storytelling. Thanks for reading!**

**A Note on Medieval Dueling: I just wanted to clear up why my duels and small-scale fights tend to be so short. The answer is very simple: fighting with a sword and in armor is exhausting. I'm a reasonably fit nineteen year old male, and if I swing a blade for more than forty-fiveish minutes my form goes to shit. And I'm not wearing armor. In that vein, you'll almost always see Jonah choose light armor for duels, for reasons evidenced by the Bronn vs. Ser Vardis duel in season one of the show and A Game of Thrones. There's an old adage around fighting that good big man will beat a good small man ninety percent of the time. The same is true for speed in my opinion. Hope you enjoyed, and again, please review. It keeps me going and helps me a lot.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four: Pack Bonding**

It was six moons after the welcoming feast and the following morning's duel that I finally managed to settle into life in Winterfell. It took me that long to learn the names of the servants I interacted with most and to get used to the rhythms of living in the stronghold of the Starks. I had also become somewhat familiar with the Starks throughout that time. Jon and Robb were the two I spent most of my time with, training, riding, and doing other things that were probably beneath me at my older age. I did my best to avoid Theon, and he seemed to do the same so that we only really saw each other at meals. Even so, we managed to stay civil when we did run into each other, and I had to acknowledge that he was a skilled archer and horseman, as well as having seemed to have been working feverishly at his swordsmanship ever since I beat him in the yard.

I spent less time with the younger Starks, but I had still spent a decent amount of time with them and had grown to enjoy their company. Sansa was a sweet girl, though her near-obsession with romantic songs and stories could quickly grow tiresome. She enjoyed when I would play my mandolin and sing for her, mostly southron songs that she had learned from her septa and I picked up from a songbook I found in the Winterfell library. Once we had more of a rapport established, I was going to try to convince her to ask her father to let her spend some time at Bear Island. For some reason it bothered me that the oldest daughter of the Warden of the North was as soft and as, well, southern as she was. Her septa's influence was to blame there. The only other House I knew of that had a servant of the Andal's Seven were the Manderlys, and they were originally southrons in any case.

Her sister had no such leanings. Arya was a wild child, a daughter of the North. She had her father's looks, but none of his restraint. Arya ran, fought, and laughed just like the boys around her age in the keep. I couldn't count the number of times Ser Rodrik or Jory Cassel, Rodrik's son and the captain of the guard, had to chase her away from the training yard or from trying to steal a dagger from the armory. Of course, a dagger was more like a longsword to the four year old, but she was determined. She loved Wojtek almost as much as Lyanna did, and I told myself that I should never let them meet if I ever wanted to have peace again. Sansa was wary of the bear cub, but he was growing on her, as well as just growing. He was nearly fifty-five kilograms and growing every day, though luckily the clumsiness he had had at first was quickly disappearing so that he didn't often break things.

Bran was normally found watching us in the training yard, running around with his younger sister, or attempting to climb things. He was only four, so the only things he really managed to climb were some low walls and his pony, but Robb, Jon, multiple guards, and myself had all had to grab him when he went for a tower many times. I had no doubt that when he was older there would be no stopping him, unfortunately for his mother. Lady Stark obviously loved her children, even if she had trouble keeping Arya and Bran under control while she was still caring for Rickon. She was friendly to me, but I felt a certain wariness for the woman since I saw how she treated Jon. Jon was my friend, and loved his siblings. He was certainly no threat to them, but she still treated him not dissimilarly to how I treated Theon: cold distance and poorly hidden dislike. When I realized that, I made an effort to be nicer to the kraken. No one deserved that kind of treatment twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week.

-6 moons later-

I sat in a small common room near the Stark's quarters, my mandolin across my lap as I idly strummed at it. Sansa and Arya sat in the middle of the room, Septa Mordane showing Arya how to thread and hold a needle while Sansa worked on a simple project. Sansa had recently turned eight, and Arya five, so the septa had begun to include the younger girl in her lessons on the womanly arts. I was just bored and didn't feel like being alone. Lord Stark had taken Robb on a visit to House Glover, Jon was training with Ser Rodrik, and while relations had improved between Theon and myself I wasn't about to seek him out. So I found myself in a room with the three women, fiddling with my instrument while the septa occasionally sent me dirty looks I summarily ignored.

After a few moments of relative quiet while Mordane helped Arya with her needle, Sansa looked over at me. "Jonah, would you play a song for us?" she asked, her voice quiet and demure as she had been taught.

I couldn't help but smile at the eight year old trying to act like a proper lady, not because she did a poor job, but because she was better at it than even Jorelle, the most ladylike of my sisters. "I could," I said. "What would my ladies like to hear?"

Sansa smiled at my formal response, while Arya let out a snort. We had all spent enough time together that most formality had been dropped, but the septa's presence caused me to be more lordly. More because I didn't feel like listening to a lecture than any other reason. "Would you play Jenny of Oldstones?" Sansa asked.

Arya groaned. "Not again!" she said. "Play the Rains of Castamere, or the Bear and the Maiden Fair!"

Arya's outburst got her a _look_ from the septa, and her second suggestion earned me a dirty look as well. How was I supposed to know that Arya had snuck back into the hall that night? "Arya, your sister asked first," the septa said firmly.

The younger girl pouted for a moment, but quickly cheered up at my next words. "You can play with Wojtek later, Arya," I told her. The quickly growing bear had been banished to the godswood after knocking over a servant at breakfast in his rush to get to some bacon I had put on a plate for him. Arya mollified, I started playing the song Sansa had requested. "_High in the halls of the kings who are gone…_"

We were in the godswood, myself, Arya, and Wojtek, a few hours after the sewing lesson had ended. I had had a lesson with Maester Luwin on managing finances, and I wasn't sure what the girls had been doing. However, Arya had been waiting for me when I walked out of the Maester's tower, practically jumping down my throat in her eagerness to go see the bear.

The five year old was currently riding the ninety kilo bear, who at my best guess was around two years old. He was darting around the clearing in front of the heart tree, while she squealed with joy, her arms wrapped around his furry neck. I started laughing as she nearly fell off when he accidentally shouldered a tree, but she recovered and he kept galloping around.

I heard footsteps behind me, and turned away from where I leaned against a tree. Sansa was walking into the clearing, her dress a stark contrast to the scuffed leather jacket I wore over a cotton shirt and pants, or Arya's pants and tunic, filthy from falling off the bear multiple times. "Come to join the fun?" I asked, jerking my head at her sibling.

She rolled her eyes. "I'm a _lady_," she said plaintively. "Ladies don't scream and run and ride bears."

I crooked an eyebrow at her. "Try telling that to Jorelle," I muttered.

Apparently I wasn't as quiet as I thought, because she responded immediately. "Who's Jorelle?" she asked.

"One of my younger sisters," I said. "And the only one I've seen in a dress outside of a formal event. She convinced Mother to teach her to be a proper Northern lady, but she's still one of the most dangerous archers I've ever seen. The dagger of hers isn't fun to fight against either," I mused.

Sansa's eyes had widened. "She's a lady and she fights?"

"Aye. A year older than you are," I told her. Sansa lapsed back into silence, apparently processing this new information.

"Do the other ladies in your family fight?" The question came unexpectedly, as she had been silent for quite a while, giving me time to shout tips to Arya after she fell off of Wojtek once again.

I glanced over at her, and her face was inquisitive rather than the judgemental look I had seen more and more lately, especially while watching Arya struggle with needlework. I could only guess she had picked it up from Septa Mordane. I did not like that woman. "They do," I responded slowly. "Mother is one of the finest warriors in the North, Dacey and Alysane were trained by her, Mother and Dacey trained me, Jorelle's an amazing archer as I said, Lyra's started training with a morningstar that scares the living hell out of me, and Lyanna's your sister's age but has been running around with a wooden training blade for the last year and a half."

"But, but, fighting is what _men_ do, not _ladies_," she sputtered.

I had to laugh at that. "My sisters can all stitch as well as you can as well as swing a sword," I told her. "Hell, even I learned to stitch."

"You know how to sew?" she gasped.

"I can sew, sing, and play the mandolin, the lyre, and drums," I responded. "Just because I'm good with a weapon and born a male doesn't mean I can't appreciate the finer arts. Though I'll admit that I only learned stitching so I could help with medical care."

She frowned at that. "How does stitching help with medicine?"

"You can stitch up cuts and stab wounds so that they stop bleeding if you know how," I told her.

Her mouth gaped open, then she seemed to gather herself to ask another question. It wasn't the one I was expecting. "Could you show me how?" she asked.

"Are you sure?" I said, looking at her. "It's not exactly a skill for a proper southron lady."

She looked indignant at that and drew herself up. "I'm not a southron! I'm a Northern lady!"

"Someone should tell your bloody septa that," I muttered, forgetting her apparently bat-like ears, though that comment only drew a curious look from her.

"What do you mean?"

I sighed and thought for a moment before responding. "Not all northern women are trained to fight like they are in my family. But southron women are still far softer than northern women. Northern women are taught to run the household when their husbands or sons are away. Southron women are taught to look pretty, sing well, and stitch pretty things. Your septa is from the south, like your mother. The difference is that your mother adapted to the ways of the North. Your septa is trying to teach you to be a southerner. How much time do you spend on sums?"

She looked at the ground, not meeting my eyes when she answered. "Not much. I'm not very good at them," she said, her voice barely audible.

"Bullshit," I snorted, and her head snapped up at the profanity. "Apologies. But you're a smart girl. The only reason I can think that you wouldn't be good at sums is if you hadn't been taught properly."

She looked up, meeting my eyes, and there was a fire in them I had previously only seen when she was fighting with her sister. "Can you teach me?"

"Teach you what?" I asked. I wanted specifics before I agreed to anything.

"How to be a northern lady," she said. "Sums, stitching wounds, whatever else you think I should know."

I thought for a moment before responding. "I will," I told her, then held up a finger before she could respond. "But. First off, we can't tell your mother or your septa. Some things we can't hide, like teaching you to ride properly, but teaching sums or stitches we can. I don't want your lady mother angry at me because of this, and there are some things I can't teach you that you'll need them to teach you."

"Like what?" she asked.

"Things you'll understand when you're older," I said. "But for now, first lesson: northern ladies know how and when to have fun." I pointed out into the clearing, where Arya had fallen off of Wojtek once more and was leaning against a tree, panting, while he licked her face and chuffed happily. "Go on," I told her, and gave her a little push. She glared at me for half a second, then kicked off her shoes and walked over to the bear and her sister. I spent the next hour watching the two play with my bear, grinning that they were having an interaction that wasn't fighting for the first time in several moons.

-2 moons later-

I had quickly roped Jon and Robb into my lessons with Sansa, an action that helped stall a rift that had been growing between Jon and Sansa thanks to Lady Stark's attitude. Arya had also joined in, relishing the lessons Robb, Jon and I gave in riding and other things. She even improved her sewing when I explained its battlefield applications, and Robb and Jon asked to learn some as well, which I found mildly surprising. My suspicions about Sansa and sums had only proved partially correct. While she was a very intelligent eight year old, she just didn't have a head for mathematics. However, with consistent practice between the five of us she steadily improved.

The six of us and my bear had ridden out into the wolfwood since Arya wanted to try her hand at the bow and dagger after hearing my stories about Jory. Really she wanted to try a rapier like the one I had told her Alysane used, but I didn't have one on hand and she was too small for a longsword. After quite a bit of pestering I had convinced Sansa to try out the weapons as well, so Robb and I carried a bow, full quiver, and poniard dagger each, in addition to our own swords and daggers. I was the only one who carried live steel, as I had been wearing a proper sword even before I came to Winterfell. The other two wore blunted training longswords, but the dirks they carried were sharp enough to cut through leather without issue. Jon had a pair of hay-filled targets slung over his saddle, as well as a couple of spare quivers and the necessary protective gear for archery.

Once I judged we were sufficiently far into the wolfswood to avoid anyone noticing us and asking awkward questions, I signaled the group to dismount. I rode Roach, and Jon and Robb rode a pair of Yakutians, horses extremely well-suited to the bitter cold of Northern winters. When I had Roach covered in blankets, the Yakutians would just shrug off the extreme temperatures. Sansa, Arya, and Bran all rode Yakutian ponies, making me the odd man out. Bran and Arya rode well for their age, though Sansa was still working on the adjustment from riding sidesaddle like a southron, an adjustment made harder by the fact that Mordane and Lady Stark still expected her to ride like a lady. Even so, she was making progress. Jon and I set up the targets while Robb helped the girls put on the arm and finger guards, as well as coaching them through the basic movements of firing a bow. Both bows had reduced draw weights from the longbows I would use, or even from the slightly lighter bows that Jon and Robb still used. As such, there was little risk of injury to themselves or others between the low power and the wooden-pointed arrows we had brought.

Once the targets were ready, we circled back around to the girls, Robb, and Bran, just in time to hear Bran whining about how he wanted to shoot too. I looked at the two older brothers, then flicked my gaze to the younger one and patted the hilt of my sword. Robb nodded, and I stepped up behind Bran, ruffling his hair to get his attention. "Ever held a live blade?" I asked.

He spun towards me, his complaints forgotten thanks to the implication in my question. Robb looked relieved behind him, while his sisters were trying to contain giggles. "No," the younger Stark boy replied.

"Well, I think it's high time we fixed that, don't you agree?" I said. He nodded eagerly, and I led him away from the other Starks, who were beginning to work on getting the girls to fire their first shots. My help would not be missed, as I was a middling archer on my best days. Once we were far enough away from the others that I was sure we wouldn't wind up in the way, I stopped and turned towards the boy trailing after me.

Bran's eyes were glued to my sheathed blade. "Can I hold it now?" he said, bouncing on his toes, his eyes alive with excitement.

I had to grin at his enthusiasm as I knelt to get closer to his height. I pulled the weapon from its scabbard slowly, keeping the hilt in my right hand and resting the flat of the blade on my left. "Can you tell me what kind of sword this is?" I asked him.

His brow furrowed as he tried to remember. I was sure I had told him, but it wouldn't be surprising if the four year old had forgotten. "A longsword?" he guessed. I shook my head, and his face fell for a moment before a stubborn glint came into his eyes. "A… bastard sword?" he said, and immediately glanced over his shoulder at Jon, a guilty look on his face.

"That's right!" I said, keeping the smile on my face. Damnit Lady Stark, were you _trying _to poison your children's interactions with their sibling? "You don't need to worry about Jon when you're talking about swords," I continued. "After all, I'm trying to convince him to carry one as well."

The guilt disappeared from Bran's face as he giggled at that, much to my relief. "Can I hold it now?" he asked again.

"I don't know, can you?" I responded, then offered him the hilt. He grasped the hilt with both hands, still pudgy with barely diminished baby fat, and it suddenly hit me that maybe handing a four year old a sharp steel sword may not be my most inspired idea. At this point I was committed though, and denying him would probably result in him going to his mother. That wouldn't be good for anybody, especially me.

I helped Bran with the sword, both of his hands clasping the wire-wrapped hilt while one of mine steadied the blade. The look of awe on his face was amusing, to say the least. His arms quickly grew tired, so I took the blade back, moving from a crouch to sitting with legs folded together and the blade lying across my knees. I walked him through the pieces of the weapon and why it was the way it was. Pommel, a simple iron knob, with a small, threaded cavity I could screw a specially made spike into, a spike currently resting in a small pouch next to my scabbard. Hilt, wrapped in wire to increase the ease with which I could keep a grip on it and with room to place a hand and about a half before it overlapped onto the pommel, and the crossguard, a simple T-bar that widened at the outside edge to protect my hands. The blade was a little less than a meter long, its single edge honed to razor sharpness and each side had a pair of blood channels that ran the length of the blade.

"Have you ever killed anyone with it?" Bran asked, his eyes wide with curiosity. I had heard quite a few times from his siblings that Bran's favorite stories were the scary and bloody ones, so it wasn't surprising that he asked the question.

I debated for a moment before deciding to be truthful. It wouldn't do any harm so long as I left out the details. "Yes," I told him. With any luck, he would leave it at that, but no such luck.

"Who did you kill? Were they bad? I bet they were bad. When did you fight them?" The questions carried on, until finally I was saved from trying to answer them with as little information as I could get away with by Jon walking over.

"Oh, thank the gods," I interrupted. "Jon, if White Walkers ever return to the realms of men, all we need to do to convince them to turn tail and run is send Bran to ask them questions."

We shared a laugh while Bran flushed bright red. I ruffled his hair again and stood up, returning my blade to its sheath. "Ran out of arrows?" I guessed.

"Aye," Jon said. "Sansa doesn't care for it and it showed. Arya's as good a shot as I am." He shrugged. "Natural talent."

I grinned. "Not surprising," I told him. "Arya was born to be a warrior. We need to convince your father to send her to Bear Island even if we can't convince him to send Sansa." Jon, Robb, Sansa and I had been discussing my idea to send her to foster at Bear Island for a time, an idea the three of us boys were in favor of and Sansa wasn't opposed to. Sansa had been the one to bring up sending Arya when she was older, and idea we all more or less agreed with. "Well, if you're out of arrows I suppose you want me to show them some dagger techniques?"

Jon grinned. "You're the only one who's had any real training with a dagger," he said. "Ser Rodrik doesn't care for them, thinks they're too short to be of any real use in a fight."

"Your sisters are fairly short, so it seems appropriate," I said. The three of us returned to the others, where Arya and Sansa held the two training daggers, their grips awkward on the hilts. "First thing you need to know is how to hold the bloody thing," I told them. "There are two grips: a forward grip and a reverse grip. Forward grip is good for thrusts and broad slashes, reverse is good for stabbing. If you have a sword, you want forward grip. If you have space, forward grip. If you're in tight, reverse grip. Here's how to hold it."

I spent the next few minutes adjusting their hands into a proper forward grip, their palm on the lower half of the hilt, furthest from the crossguard, to add reach to their strikes and their fingers wrapped around in a secure grip without white-knuckling. Once I had their grips correct, I decided it was lecture time. "What are you holding?" I asked them, looking at the pair expectantly.

"A… dagger?" Sansa said.

"Are you asking a question or answering mine?" I asked.

"A dagger," she said, the hesitation gone.

"Yes, but can you tell me what kind of dagger?" I said. The sisters looked at each other, then back at me, clearly confused. "You're holding a poniard," I explained. "Poniards are slimmer than a dirk or most other kinds of fighting dagger, intended for stabbing and to slip through chinks in armor. As a bonus to their smaller size, they are also easier to conceal. Jorelle uses a poniard, and she keeps it strapped to the inside of her dominant side thigh under her skirts. Which hand do you write with?"

Arya raised her left hand, Sansa her right. Arya had her dagger in her right hand, having copied Sansa, so I had her switch hands and helped her get the grip right again. "Alright," I continued, "I'm not going to have you figure out how to carry the dagger right now, but I want you both to take the dagger and sheath with when you we get back and get used to wearing it." Sansa looked relieved that she wasn't going to have to hike up her skirts in the wolfswood, while Arya looked mildly disappointed, most likely since she wore trousers instead of skirts. "It'll be up to each of you to figure out how to make it accessible most of the time. Now let's work through the basic strikes."

The next half hour was spent demonstrating the dagger strikes I had been taught: abdominal thrust, thrust to the throat, right and left side slashes, and leg slashes. Each attack had a different target and aim, abdominal to kill or maim, throat to kill, left and right slashes to disable and distract, and leg slashes to disable. Once they had those down, I worked them through the defenses against those strikes, sweeps to deal with the thrusts and blocks and parries for the slashes. Then I had them start working on velocities, matching the attacks to the parries, slowly at first and then with increasing speed, trying to ingrain the movements until they didn't have to think about it.

After another hour, I felt that they had the forehand techniques as ingrained as they were going to get them on their first day. The sun was descending in the sky, and by my reckoning we had an hour or two of light left before the dark closed in. It was an hour's ride back to the castle at the speed dictated by the younger Stark's ponies, plus a quarter hour or so to rearrange Sansa's saddle so her mother and septa didn't realize what we were doing. In short, I judged we had enough time for a spar, Sansa and Arya working together against me. During the course of our work that afternoon we had cleared a roughly circular patch in the middle of the clearing we had been using. Sansa and Arya stood on one side of the circle, practice weapons in hand, and I stood on the other side.

I slipped my dagger from its sheath, and the apprehension on the girl's faces at the sight of the sharp steel was unmistakable. I smiled at them, "Don't worry, I'm only going to defend, not attack. All you have to do is land a touch within the fifteen minute time limit," I reassured them.

They nodded, and when Robb shouted "Go!" they charged in tandem, Arya from my right and Sansa from my left, placing me on both of their dominant sides. Arya's abdominal thrust I easily turned aside using the sweep block I had shown them, and Sansa's leg swipe, aimed at my kneecap was dodged when I slid my left foot back behind my right. A slash at my throat I leaned away from, and a pair of quick swipes at my arms were blocked. The two worked surprisingly well together, never striking at the same spot and rarely tripping each other up. They both had an impressive killer instinct, especially Arya, who consistently struck with potentially lethal effect, even with the blunt training weapon.

The girls had just mounted a rush in tandem when Wojtek came running into the clearing, moving with speed and agility that would shock anyone not familiar with bears. He had wandered off to hunt almost as soon as we got settled, but now he returned, at a speed he rarely bothered to move at unless he was following me on horseback, a warning growl emanating from deep in his throat. It was a testament to the gentleness of the bear and the ever-deepening bond I felt with him that none of us felt threatened by the growling beast.

"What's wrong, boy?" I asked. I sheathed my dagger and laid my hand on the pommel of my sword, resting my other hand between the bear's ears. Jon and Robb both went for their daggers, proper dirks rather than the poniards we had given the girls. The three of us cast around, looking for what had set off Wojtek's normal staid demeanor. The girls moved to either side of the bear, putting themselves under the aegis he represented with the weight of his presence.

When the danger finally revealed itself, it was something we never expected. "What's all this, then?" The voice came from the direction of the path we hooked off from, the track that led into the wolfswood from the kingsroad. We turned and saw a man sitting atop a dark-furred horse, his own hair long but well-kempt. He wore jet black furs, and a sword at his side. Most importantly, he looked remarkably similar to Lord Stark.

When Robb spoke, his voice cracked. "Oh. Ah, hello Uncle Benjen."

When we arrived back at Winterfell, led by Benjen Stark, Lord Eddard's brother, Lord Stark was waiting at the gate, Jory Cassel and a group of guards at his back. They looked to be preparing to ride out, even though the sun had mostly dipped behind the treeline.

"Benjen!" Lord Stark called, relief in his voice. "You found them! Thank the old gods."

"Aye, I found them," Benjen said. "Mayhap we should retire to your solar, along with your wife."

The seriousness in Benjen's tone tempered Lord Stark's relief at seeing his children unharmed, and the mask of the lord slipped back over the face of the worried father. He nodded decisively, ordering Jory to get the guardsmen back to their usual duties before turning to us. "My solar. Now."

We trooped up to Lord Stark's solar, none of us talking. Lady Stark was pacing back and forth when we walked in, Lord Stark closing the door behind us. She descended on her children instantly, fussing over them and checking them for injuries. Once she had ascertained that they were uninjured (bar a few bruises on both girls from when Arya was… overzealous), she turned her attention to their appearance. Arya was covered in dirt and grime, but that was nothing new. Sansa, on the other hand, was ordinarily pristine, even after a day in the woods with her brothers, another rare occurrence. She was nearly as dirty as Arya, though not quite as she didn't have Arya's tendency to throw herself on the ground and roll around when she lost at something.

Finally, we were all standing in the solar, Lord and Lady Stark, Benjen Stark, the First Ranger of the Night's Watch, four of the Stark children, Jon, and myself. The adults were seated at a small table, facing us, each with a goblet to go with a carafe of wine in the center of the table. I had been in the solar a few times, but never before had the simple room evoked dread in me. Large windows covered one wall, a feature which made the room impractical during the bitter winters, but enjoyable during the summers. The table the adults sat at stood in front of these windows, a simple but well-carved four-legged block of wood. Lord Stark's desk, a considerably larger version of the table, stood near one wall of the room, and a few upholstered chairs and a couch occupied the rest of the room.

The adults sat in silence, waiting for one of us to speak. We kept our silence, though Arya and Bran began to fidget. Sansa started to open her mouth, but a nudge from Robb quickly prevented that. After that, Lord Stark seemed to realize we weren't going to budge and finally began the interrogation. "Do any of you want to explain why you were in the wolfswood so late, and why you look like you've been rolling around in the dirt?" he said.

I stepped forward before anyone else could. "It was my idea, my lord," I said, then stopped speaking. I wasn't going to lie to him, but I'd be damned if I was going to offer myself up on a silver platter. I was sixteen, a man grown, and old enough to know better than to admit to anything unless I had to.

"Your idea to do what, exactly?" Lady Stark asked.

I kept my face bland, something I was better at than I would have thought. "To go out into the wolfswood, Lady Stark," I said.

Benjen leaned forward in his chair, his unflinching gaze finding my own steady eyes. "Would you mind telling me why the girls were holding daggers when I rode up?"

Shit. I had hoped he had missed that, especially since I had had them conceal the weapons in their tack as soon as the man had turned his back. Well, then. It appeared that our cover was blown. Time to come clean. "I was teaching them the basics of dagger fighting and archery," I said bluntly. "Arya was interested, and I convinced Sansa to come. It seemed prudent to me that the daughters of a Great House be capable of defending themselves."

Lady Stark bristled. "My daughters are ladies, not soldiers, Mormont," she snapped.

"With respect to Sansa, I agree my lady," I returned. "However, Arya is a born warrior. I believe she should be allowed to pursue her interest in the martial arts in conjunction with the feminine arts, just as the women of my family have done for years uncounted."

Lady Stark seemed to swell with rage at my impudence, but Lord Stark spoke before she could speak. "And what gives your the right to make that judgement?" he asked, his tone soft but backed by steel.

"I merely observe and report on my findings, my lord," I told him. "Sansa has no interest in becoming a warrior, but nevertheless should be capable of defending herself. The world is a dangerous place, my lord. Arya yearns to fight, to learn the skills with arms that her brothers learn. I saw fit to teach her so long as she didn't fall behind in her other studies. I've helped Sansa improve her sums and Arya her sewing, for the price of a few riding lessons and some basic self-defense training."

"My girls learn all they need to be good ladies from Septa Mordane," Lady Stark snarled.

"All they need to be good southron ladies, yes. More is expected of northern ladies, as I'm sure you know, Lady Stark," I said.

Someone else stepped up beside me, and I was surprised to see it was Sansa. I had expected hot headed Arya to leap to the defense first. "Mother, he's right!" she said. "Septa Mordane only teaches us to sew and be humble and polite. How am I supposed to help my husband manage his lands if all I know how to do is sew and speak courtesies?"

Lady Stark was taken aback at Sansa's outburst, momentarily struck dumb, which allowed Arya to join in. "I want to fight!" she whined. "I'm no good at all the lady things, but I'm good at fighting!"

"Your sewing has improved remarkably…" Lady Stark said.

"Under my tutelage," I interrupted. "The problem wasn't a lack of ability, but rather one of application."

Lord Stark raised an eyebrow at that, sharing a look with his silent brother. "Application?"

"Arya has no interest in sewing for sewing's sake, but as a medical practice she finds it endlessly fascinating," I said. "If she weren't so dead set on the warrior's path, I'd wager that she'd make an excellent healer."

"With all of your opinions on how to raise our daughters, why don't you just tell us how you think it should be done," Lady Stark said waspishly.

I looked at Lord Stark, and he gestured for me to do so. I sighed internally, took a moment to gather my thoughts, and began. "Both girls should learn to use and carry a dagger, for their own protection. They should be allowed further weapons training if they so choose. Sansa should spend more time with Maester Luwin learning sums, he's far more qualified to teach her than I. Arya should be allowed to foster at Bear Island in a few years, should she decide to continue in her desire to fight. They should both be taught how to ride properly, not the southron sidesaddle method. And Septa Mordane should be sent back to the south posthaste. This is Winterfell, the heart of the North. The Seven have no place here."

Silence greeted my words, broken by Lord Stark. "Children, step outside. The three of us need to talk."

We trooped out of the room, pulling the doors closed behind us and stood quietly in the hall, most of us bracing for some kind of punishment. The sound of raised voices came from the other side of the door, though not clearly enough to tell what was being said. The majority of the yelling sounded like it came from Lady Stark. Finally the door to the solar opened once more to reveal Benjen Stark. "Come back in," he said.

The other two were once more seated at the table, and Benjen quickly crossed to join them. Benjen seemed to have been elected as spokesman, as he was the first to open his mouth. "You truly believe what you said, Lord Mormont?" he asked.

I nodded. "I do."

He grunted and looked at his brother, who gave him the slightest of nods. "Lord Stark shares some of your concerns. However, his lady wife is not fully in the wrong. Sansa," he said, then turned to look at the older girl, "you will spend more time with Maester Luwin on your sums and other matters related to running a castle. Arya, you will also spend more time with Maester Luwin. Your lessons with the septa will continue, however."

He stopped speaking, and Lord Stark sat forward. "Benjen, Cat, take the children to their chambers. They should have been there some time ago, and they all need to clean up." The two adults indicated stood, Lady Stark stiff and with anger seemingly radiating off of her, directed at myself if the glare she gave was anything to go by, while Benjen seemed relaxed. Benjen scooped up Bran in one arm, putting the other on Jon's shoulder and nudging Robb with his leg. Lady Stark followed them out of the room with Arya and Sansa each holding one of her hands.

I began to follow, but was stopped before I took more than a step towards the door. "Jonah, stay. I would speak to you," Lord Stark said. The look his wife cast back at me left me in no doubt as to why.

I turned back towards the table by the window and bowed shortly. "My lord."

He simply sat and looked at me for a moment, then shoved a chair towards me with his boot. "Sit and talk with me, Jonah," he said. "Frankly, I agree with you on most counts." I had just sat, and now froze in surprise. This was not how I expected the conversation to go. "The issue we face is twofold: firstly, you went behind my back, which I need an explanation for. Secondly, my lady wife is furious with you," he continued, holding up a hand to forestall questions. "Your position in the household is in no danger, and I will not hold your actions against your family. Depending upon your explanation, they may not even be held against you, though you understand there must be some kind of punishment for your actions. So. Explain yourself."

"Thank you, my lord," I said. "Would you like me to explain the reasoning behind my actions?"

"No, merely why you felt it necessary to hide your actions from me. As I said, your reasons for the actions themselves are valid," he said.

"My lord, the second issue you gave explains the first," I began. "I knew that, if it was discovered that I was teaching your daughters sums, sewing, riding, and more recently combat skills, your lady wife would be at best severely peeved and at worst enraged."

Lord Stark's lips twitched, a smile almost breaking through. "You seem to have failed horribly in that respect," he observed.

I grimaced. "Aye, my lord. I didn't expect anyone to come looking so long as we were back before full dark, much less your brother who to the best of my knowledge was still at Castle Black."

Lord Stark looked at me for another moment, drawing his conclusions. "Very well," he said. "I believe that you were genuinely acting in the best interest of House Stark and the North. I will consider your proposal about fostering Arya at Bear Island. Have you asked your mother about the matter?"

"No, my lord," I said, shaking my head. "I didn't feel it would be right to take that particular action without your consent."

"Hmm. You have my consent. Write your mother, and tell Luwin that I don't want Catelyn to know yet," he said. "There is still the matter of your punishment."

"Whatever my lord decides is appropriate I will gladly endure," I said quickly.

"I'm sure," he responded. "Well then. I believe your punishment shall be instructing the girls in the use of a dagger and whatever other weapons they wish to learn the ways of until such time as you are no longer able to provide further instruction." There was a twinkle in Stark's eye as he passed sentence. "I will deal with my wife on the matter. Good luck corralling Arya and convincing Sansa to get up for morning training sessions."

**A/N: Disclaimer: I don't know shit about medieval dagger fighting, I'm making this up as I go based on how I use a modern combat knife (if it was double-edged).**

**Hope you enjoyed, please review!**


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